The Stowaway
by ironcheforegon
Summary: A mysterious green-eyed stowaway is discovered aboard a cruise ship. Why is he there? Where is he going? A sweet, romantic short story set several years after Hogwarts. First person story told from the point of view of an outsider. H/Hr NOTE: Originally published on Portkey in 2010. Updated for 2019 with extra material missing from the original now finally included.
1. Chapter 1 - Friday

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Just playing in this sandbox._

_**A/N:** Hello everyone. It's been what feels like a lifetime since I've written anything, nearly nine years now, and for that, I am truly sorry. Life has a way of bucking you off its back and running away from you sometimes, and sometimes we can't always get back up into the saddle. For anyone who remembers me or this story, this was originally published on Portkey on Christmas Day, 2010. Very recently, purely by luck and fate, two dedicated fans were able to get into contact with me about two of my smaller stories. This one, **The Stowaway** and **Luna Lovegood and the Trouser Snake**. Discussions were had, and for the first time in nearly a decade, I felt motivated to go dig up an old DVD backup of my original files and look at them again._

_In doing so, I found the original notes and ideas I had written for both but which were never able to be incorporated into the versions that were originally published. At the time, it was just a struggle to even get version 1 of the story written and at the time, what ended up getting published was the "best I could do" at the time._

_But in re-reading the story and my notes, I decided to take another crack at it now that time has healed some old wounds. So I'm happy to say that this a version 2 of the story that polishes up a few minor things but more importantly adds all of the stuff that I left out the first time. If you remember the original story, nothing really important about what you remember changes. I've simply added a bunch more of the backstory that I wasn't able to include the first time._

_This story is my own special interpretation of a "songfic." Please be sure to read the postscript at the end of the story for a "special bonus" to understand how this type of songfic works. I'd suggest reading the story twice for the best effect but I'll explain in better detail at the bottom. It's well worth it, I feel. After all, the song is what inspired the story._

_Special thanks:_

_To **Polydicta**, for bringing me back to "**The Stowaway**."_

_To **MapleMountain**, my long-time friend and beta. When I published version 1, I published quietly on my own without his review. I don't even remember why. I think I was in a time crunch to release on Christmas, and I wasn't in a good place mentally at the time anyway. This time, his keen eye and wisdom have blessed me and this story._

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_**Summary:** __A mysterious green-eyed stowaway is discovered aboard a cruise ship. Why is he there? Where is he going? A sweet, romantic short story set several years after Hogwarts. First-person story told from the point of view of an outsider._

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**CHAPTER ONE**

**FRIDAY**

It was his eyes, really, that first captured my attention… those green eyes of his. Though, I suppose that's something of an obvious statement, as I would imagine that most anyone would say the exact same thing. It would be like saying it was the smile of the Mona Lisa that caught your attention.

But it was true… it was his eyes that caused me to take a second look at him as he approached me. I'd never seen eyes like that before.

And _that_ was the problem.

On my second glance, our eyes met, like any two people's eyes might meet innocently as they walked past each other. Though in that moment I saw them widen for a split second, as if in recognition. Though just as fast that look faded and he then looked away as we passed by each other. It took me another couple of seconds to run through the images in my mind to confirm what I had seen but shouldn't have.

I turned around and tried to make my way back to him, but the deck was crowded and somehow I lost him amongst the sea of guests. No matter. I would find him again… it wasn't like there was anywhere for him to go. Not in the middle of the Atlantic.

Ever watchful, I always saved a spare thought for him, for those eyes, as I made my rounds. I instructed my staff to do so as well. It was a big ship, to be sure, but it was only so big. There were only so many places one could be, only so many bodies aboard, passengers and crew… 2471 to be specific.

Make that 2472.

It took two more days, but I finally found him again. What a wonderful present for me, in more ways than one. It was Christmas morning after all, just after eight o'clock. Thank goodness as I was just about out of time; we're due to make port tomorrow. Determined not to let him escape me again, I decided to make an end-run around the breakfast crowd, keeping him in my sight but staying away from the bulk of the passengers. That was how I lost him last time, in a crowd.

I watched him as I approached, watched his behavior. By all outward appearances, he looked exactly as though he fit in. He was neatly dressed, well behaved, chatted cordially with the other passengers as appropriate—nothing that suggested anything amiss.

Except for the fact that he didn't belong here.

And that more than anything else intrigued me. Why was he here? How did he get here? It wasn't like he took a left turn at Albuquerque and accidentally popped up next to the pool. No, there had to be a reason for his presence here. And I would listen to him. If his reason was good, which no one's ever was, we'd handle it accordingly. If it wasn't… well, we were equipped to handle that as well. It wasn't the first time. And it wouldn't be the last either.

Another few moments and I was now standing directly behind him. A few of the passengers he was chatting with saw me standing behind him expectantly. They made a kind apology and 'casually' disbursed.

"Excuse me, sir?" I said to him politely. He turned.

I'm pretty sure I didn't gasp, or even stand there open-jawed. But those eyes, now that they were but two feet away, certainly entranced me. The fact that they stood out so well even behind a pair of old-fashioned round spectacles was proof of how brightly they shone. Vibrant emerald, they drew me in, though only for a moment. But in that moment, I felt as though his eyes were already telling me his story.

They were wise, and experienced, though they still shone with the youth his face conveyed… he had to be _maybe_ twenty years old, early twenties at the most. They were brilliant and sparkled, filled with energy and vitality. And yet there was a hint of weariness and sadness. Haunting… all of those curious contradictions about him seemed perfectly appropriate; not one conflicting feature seemed out of place. All of this I learned about him in the few seconds it took for those green eyes of his to glance down at my name tag and then back up to me.

And in his eyes, I could see that he too now knew _my_ story, or at least the part that would be most relevant to him given the circumstances: he was a stowaway, and I was… you know what? Maybe it was something about his brilliant, sparkling eyes that sparked something inside me, something that lightened my mood. So yeah, just for once I'm going to fully embrace it and enjoy it, and go all Jack Webb in my inner monologue.

_My name is Friday. I carry a badge._


	2. Chapter 2 - Questions

_A/N: As I mentioned in the description, this is a short, sweet story. It is six chapters long and you can expect one chapter to be posted per day__. Originally it was written as one long, unbroken story. I enjoy making fancy book-style PDFs that resemble the real HP books. In doing so for this I realized that the story looked better and felt more organized if I broke it into six smaller chapters, so that's how I'm going to post it here too. Once we reach the end I'll post a link to the PDF if case anyone is curious and wants to see it. :-) _

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**CHAPTER TWO**

**QUESTIONS**

Well, to be more specific, I'm Joanne Friday, Head of Security aboard the QE2. Yeah, a "cop" named 'Jo' Friday. My parents REALLY loved it when they heard that, considering they were the ones who named me. Dad just loved police dramas, and back in the '60s mom thought Jack Webb was just dreamy; she loved the 'strong silent type.' With an honest-to-goodness last name of Friday, they couldn't resist.

Back to my interloper. Now that my entrancement had passed, I noticed the faint shadow of an old, faded scar on his forehead. Perhaps in his youth, if it had been more prominent, it might have been the defining feature of him, at least as far as schoolyard teasing went.

But now, it was something that was noticed only as an afterthought, once you got beyond those eyes. In those eyes of his, I expected to see panic, or fear, or apprehension. Something… anything. Yet there was nothing—or rather more accurately, no change. Just that same unwavering intensity. Either he didn't know what I wanted to talk to him about (impossible considering the circumstances), or he didn't find the situation, or me, concerning.

"Would you please step out onto the outer deck?" I didn't want to do this here in front of everyone, just in case he decided to make a scene.

For the briefest of moments, I felt as though he was looking straight _through_ me, as if was trying to size me up and determine if I was serious or not. Having experienced much worse in this job than a staring contest however, I returned his look with a steely though not impolite gaze of my own.

He must have decided I was not joking; he gave a tiny nod and walked calmly to the door. I followed him out, glad this did not (yet, at least) turn out like the only other two times a stowaway was discovered in the three years I'd been a member of the crew.

The first time ended with the teenager, a runaway, breaking down in the middle of the corridor, bawling his eyes out when confronted. The other time ended with the man (a drug smuggler we later learned) trying to fight his way out of the room and jumping overboard. I don't know what he was thinking; the nearest land was about five hundred miles away. The icy North Atlantic Ocean sucked all of the heat—and life—out of his body before the rescue team could bring him back to the ship.

We walked toward the starboard railing where no one was lingering. In the middle of the open sea on a cold winter's morning, everybody was inside. As it was Christmas morning, there were any number of activities for guests to enjoy this morning. _Registered_ guests, that is.

There were four breakfast buffets, five religious services for various faiths, or even just warm cabins for families to enjoy their Christmas mornings privately. Fortunately, it was a calm morning, not so frigid as to be dangerous for a few minutes without a jacket, but still cold enough to be uncomfortable. Uncomfortable was good; it was a distraction that often impeded a person's desire to stretch out their lie or to focus coherently on it.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am." Ah, he was British, though that by itself was not unusual. Our usual run was back and forth between New York and Southampton, so good portions of the passengers on any run were from the UK.

"How did you get aboard?"

"Like everyone else, ma'am," he said with a practiced grin that I knew he hoped was disarming, "I walked up the ramp."

"No, I don't think so, Mr. Potter. You see, identification for all who board is checked at each and every boarding point. You are neither a registered passenger aboard this ship, nor are you a member of the crew. Therefore, I am forced to conclude you are a stowaway. Among other things, I am interested in determining how you were able to get aboard."

His smile lessened, almost imperceptibly, but for a trained eye, it was visible. "I can assure you, ma'am," he said, continuing to put on a smile, "that I am _most certainly a passenger_." That slight extra emphasis was odd like he was trying to convince me with merely his words. Or maybe he was just trying to convince himself.

"Why would you think otherwise? If you would allow me to return to my cabin, I would be happy to come back and show you my ticket."

He started to move toward one of the corridors, either to flee or to simply get out of the cold. I wanted him to do neither.

"No, please stay right here. I know you are not telling the truth, Mr. Potter, because I know the name and face of each of the 2471 people aboard this ship, passenger and crew. You are neither."

His fake smile disappeared completely, though I could tell he was not perturbed. Rather he knew he was found out and simply ceased the effort of the act. The green-eyed mystery man studied me for a moment. "Photographic memory?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Affirmative," I replied more formally than necessary, intentionally. The term 'photographic memory' was… inaccurate, but it wasn't worth the effort to correct the terminology. He knew why I recognized him. My ability to remember names and faces had served me well over my relatively short career. Indeed, it probably helped propel me at the speed through which I ascended the ranks.

He smiled weakly and his entire body visibly relaxed. He hadn't been tense _per se_, but he'd certainly been standing quite guardedly… like one might expect when confronted by security. He ran his hand through his well maintained—though totally uncontrollable—black hair. Scratching the back of his head the way that people seem to do when they concede something, he chuckled.

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that," he said as he looked out to sea. His voice was now directed out to the open ocean, more to himself. "One face among twenty-five hundred. She said the Remember-Me-Not would work on everyone _unless_ they had an eidetic memory." He turned back to face me again.

"I just _had_ to find the one person on board who might actually notice… and care." I had no idea who or what he was talking about since he was talking more to himself, but I allowed him a small smile in agreement with his bad luck.

"So, what? Were you on the lookout for me, or was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" he asked, amused.

Strange… the more time I spent around him, the more at ease I began to feel. Here was a man I didn't know and who had all but confessed to a crime (granted minor and non-violent) and yet as every minute passed by, the safer and safer I felt in his presence.

"Bad luck," I told him consolingly. "Though your genes did conspire against you," I joked. At his questioning look, I explained. "Your eyes. We just happened to walk past each other two days ago. I noticed your eyes. And then a few moments later I realized that I didn't recognize your face from the manifest. But by the time I turned around, you were gone into the crowd."

Harry then rolled those captivating green eyes. "Ah, yes… Hermione always said they were my best feature." He then smiled, embarrassed, as he turned away from me again and looked over the rail down into the seemingly bottomless ocean. "Well… _second_ best feature," he added almost inaudibly with a proud grin that I knew he had truly intended only for himself.

I blushed! I could not believe it. I knew he did not intend for me to hear that but, still, if any other suspect had said that to me or near me, I would have arrested him on the spot and thrown his ass in a holding cell for the remainder of the cruise. I was not naive, and probably ten years his senior I certainly should not be so flustered at such innuendo. Even if it wasn't actually addressed to me.

But yet I was. Why? What was it about him that was completely disarming me? He was attractive, handsome and fit to be sure, but not so much that I would be tempted to abandon my duties for some fling. The lack of any thoughts wondering just how _ample_ his pride was proved there was no lust for him clouding my judgment. No, there was no interest in him that wasn't professional.

So what was it? Why was he disarming me? There was just this… _presence_ about him that dismantled my defenses and quelled my doubts. Hell, it was like magic how he did that. Charm or no, I still had a duty to perform. Before I could ask him officially, he answered.

"Yes, I did sneak aboard. I am a stowaway."

"Just to confirm, you are aware that you have confessed to a crime, and are subject to arrest?"

His formal demeanor returned, though there was nothing confrontational in his stance.

"If you feel that is necessary, that is your right."

Damn. He was certainly nothing like what I expected. Most people would be pathetically asserting their innocence or begging to cut a deal right about now. But he looked as though he would be just as content whether I arrested him or let him go. What an enigma this man was. What to do with him?

Bemused, I decided to ask him.

"What, Mr. Potter, am I to do with you? You have yet to tell me how you came aboard, and that is a tale I am most interested to hear as I have eliminated all possible means that I could think of. You shouldn't be here, and yet you are. I am _most_ tempted to just throw you overboard to make you disappear just as mysteriously as you appeared."

One of his eyebrows rose, more in intrigue than surprise. "Really?" he asked.

I was bluffing, of course, and he probably knew it, but no point in letting him off the hook so easily.

"Really," I lied, convincingly I felt. "We're in the middle of the ocean, in international waters, far beyond the reach of the laws of the land. Out here, it's the rule of the sea, and stowaways are thrown overboard. No one saw you embark… of _that_ I'm certain. So no one has to see you _dis_embark either."

"Go on then," he said, bemused, holding out his arms out in front of him as if he expected me to handcuff him. I was bluffing. He knew. I knew he knew. He knew I knew he knew.

Holding this conversation on the outer deck was intended to make him uncomfortable thanks to the cold. It was working; I could see an occasional shiver and a second or two of chattering teeth. It was also making me uncomfortable as well. _Damn._ I wanted an out. I'd already forgotten half of what he had mentioned.

And then I realized I had forgotten almost _everything_ he'd told me. That REALLY embarrassed and irritated me, as it was my _job_ to remember such things. This was the first time I had failed to do so. Why? My extraordinary recall was based on the things I saw, but there was no reason why I should have forgotten our discussion. I remembered him, my questions, but not his answers. Why?

And why was I not worried about that? Or him?

His hands were still out as if waiting to be arrested, or thrown overboard. I noticed the wedding ring.

"Not today, I think," I told him, and he lowered his hands. "Your wife deserves at least one phone call first, eh, before we throw you to the whales?" I had every reason, every legal right to haul him down to a cell right now and yet something gave me pause. We were due back into port tomorrow. He wasn't going anywhere. I could certainly continue this before we docked then.

I trusted him, I realized. I didn't even know this Harry from Tom or Dick, and yet I knew he would not cause trouble. There would be time enough later to finish this business. There was nowhere for him to go; we were still a full day away. He couldn't even call anyone, as all ship-to-shore communication required a ship ID card for billing purposes. Even if he was fancy and had a cellular telephone it wouldn't work this far away from land.

"We'll speak again later, Mr. Potter, to resolve this," I told him.

He gave a small nod, not as if to say _'I accept your terms'_ but rather as if to say _'You're right, we will.'_

Fascinating.


	3. Chapter 3 - Answers

**CHAPTER THREE**

**ANSWERS**

It was nearly six o'clock later that night and the last party of tonight, Christmas night, would be starting soon. We were only about one hundred fifty miles from shore, and we would begin disembarking tomorrow. This was the last chance for passengers to celebrate the holiday, and their cruise, before we put into port.

Since this had been advertised as a Christmas cruise, this last dance was considered somewhat formal. Many men were in tuxedos or fine suits and many women were in elegant dresses. And the rest made every effort to look their best in their everyday clothing, which was completely acceptable too.

As a senior member of the crew, I too was fully decked out with our company's version of a dress uniform: black trousers and a pressed and starched white jacket with pseudo-rank epaulettes on the shoulders. It was an elegant cross between a tuxedo and a naval uniform, and actually kind of fun to wear on special occasions like this.

Once the dance started, I'd be expected to mingle in amongst the crowd and be a cordial chaperone and assist as needed. But before that, I strangely felt compelled to go out to the starboard railing again. After speaking with Mr. Potter there early this morning, I'd bumped into him there again this afternoon around noon. Deciding to take an opportunity to learn more about our stowaway, I invited him to join me for lunch. My treat, of course.

Just to try to understand the nature of his character and his reasons, I asked him how he felt about theft, about being a stowaway. He knew he was breaking the law but insisted it couldn't be avoided. He ignored my subtle attempts to have him explain that further.

'To compensate,' he said, he did his best to minimize his impact aboard ship. He only ate at the buffets and waited until moments before the servers came to discard food that had been sitting out for too long. He drank from unused water glasses set out on tables. He slept poolside in the recliners; it was not uncommon to see guests napping on the beach chairs next to our indoor pool.

Yes, he certainly seemed to have given this a lot of thought and planning. Aside from having to carry his weight, infinitesimal compared to the rest of the ship, his actual drain on ship services was nil. He was a stowaway in name only. Unfortunately, I hadn't been able to learn much more then as our lunch was cut short due to me being called away to assist with a child who had lost his parents.

Back out on the starboard railing on this cold evening, I found him standing there, looking lost in thought as he stared into the endless depths of the clear night sky. Though what confused me the most was the fact he was wearing a tuxedo, fitting in perfectly with the fancy crowd. Each time I'd seen him prior to now he had been wearing the same clothes, which made sense for someone who had snuck aboard. For a stowaway, he certainly seemed to be able to summon a tuxedo out of thin air when he needed it.

"Mr. Potter. We meet again."

He turned and looked at me. "Indeed, Miss Friday. One might think you were following me."

"You are a wanted criminal, after all." He smiled and turned his attention back to the night. I moved over next to him and looked out to determine if I could see what he was looking at, or for.

"We never did finish our conversation this afternoon," I reminded him. I still wanted to know how he got aboard. And I wanted to know why. Something about him had engendered a sense of trust and security, and I knew he really hadn't had any financial impact on the ship. To my amazement, I was actually considering letting him go tomorrow morning. But I needed to know why he was here.

The ship's bell rang six o'clock. The final dance of this cruise began about twenty feet away. As the orchestra in the formal hall next to us began their first song, I could see his eyes shift slightly. They seemed drawn to my hair, though that was probably just a reflex. A sharp, cold gust had just picked up, catching my long brown hair, which tonight I had curled for this last formal affair. I could see it fluttering around my face.

I looked at him for a moment, trying to decide what to do. With the song beginning to play, he decided for me. It was one of the last things I expected.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked me, an honest smile on his face. Even more surprising than his question was my answer: I agreed.

"Don't think this gets you off the hook," I warned him truthfully, though even I could feel a certain measure of lightheartedness in my words.

He just smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said as he held out his hand. I took it and we returned to the dance hall. As we entered, I caught the eye of one of my senior staff that was helping chaperone this dance. Bill, like everyone else in my department, was told to keep an eye out for our green-eyed visitor.

With a brief nod in Mr. Potter's direction, I indicated that I had found him. Bill nodded back to me. Fortunately, he was a smart man so I knew he would have enough sense to know that I was allowing the man a dance, so there was no immediate cause for concern. The orchestra played a lively tune that kept us moving but didn't steal our breath as we talked.

"My wife and I have been on… an archeological expedition for the past two years. We've traversed nearly the entirety of Great Britain and large parts of Europe, looking for dangerous artifacts. You see, when I was in school, a great evil was destroyed, along with all of his relics. But wouldn't you know, when you spend a year on the run searching for certain dangerous items, along the way you learn that there many other kinds of dangerous items out there too, lost by history, just waiting for someone to find them accidentally. Or worse, intentionally."

On the surface, it was the most preposterous story I'd ever heard… who did he think he was, Indiana Jones? And yet I believed him without hesitation, totally and completely.

"About a month ago, we encountered two complications. First, we came across something completely unexpected, which considering what we were doing was a very big problem. But honestly, it wasn't _that_ big of a problem for us under normal circumstances were it not for the second and more important circumstance: my beautiful Hermione learned she was pregnant with our first child."

I stopped and gasped slightly at this, but a gentle nudge as I felt him continue to lead our dance got me moving again. The fast song ended, and slower though not romantic song began. He held me a little closer.

"We've been through hell and back, but none of it was as hard as that first night knowing she was pregnant. The two of us have been nearly inseparable since we were eleven. No amount of danger, _nothing_, would ever keep us apart. But this changed everything. We just sat in front of the fireplace for hours and lay in each other's arms trying to figure out what came next."


	4. Chapter 4 - Explanations

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**EXPLANATIONS**

_One month ago…_

"So let me make sure I have this all straight," Harry asked Hermione who was wrapped up in his arms on the sofa. "It's ancient Egyptian, and unlike the Resurrection Stone, it can actually, truly, recall a soul back to the living world, permanently?" He paused to allow her to confirm this one piece at a time. This was monumental news, none of it good, and he needed to say it all in his own words to make sure he fully understood the implications of it.

"Mm-hmm," Hermione said as she scratched behind Crookshanks' ear as he sat on her lap and purred contentedly.

"But unlike the Resurrection Stone, you can't just think of someone to recall them, you need a physical link to summon them?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "That's why the Pharaohs' wizards were so obsessed about preserving their bodies for the afterlife. Muggle theories of what ancient Egyptian religion was like are largely correct. They simply don't know about the magical parts."

"And you're certain it's still lost, if it truly exists at all?"

"Believe me, Harry. If anyone had actually used it in the last four thousand years, the entire world would know about it."

"Right. And now the Death Eater remnants know about it, and you think they might try to locate this artifact and use it to try to resurrect Voldemort, _again_?" Harry finished with some finality.

Hermione took a long, slow, deep breath. "Yes."

Harry and Hermione sat for a minute in somber silence just listening as the half-Kneazle continued to purr and the fire crackled merrily in the fireplace.

Finally, "So what's the next step? How far ahead of us are they?" Harry asked calmly.

"I don't think they're too far ahead of us, if at all," Hermione guessed. "They got scared when we burst in on them and left everything behind when they fled. If they truly knew what these scrolls contained then I don't think they would have left them," she ventured.

"But, we have to assume that very soon whoever was in charge of those morons will view their memories in a Pensieve and try to figure out what they had stolen and lost. The translation will slow them down the most, unless they have a Death Eater on staff that is fluent in Middle Egyptian. Otherwise, they're going to have to go in and memorize the hieroglyphs one by one, write them down outside, and _then_ run a translation outside once it's complete."

"Yeah, I don't think doing all that by hand is the first thing they'd think of," Harry mused.

"We need to act on this now, but I think we're safely in the lead," Hermione replied confidently.

"So, to Egypt?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"No, not yet," Hermione countered. "There's far too much research still to do before we go wandering around an entire country searching museums, pyramids, tombs, and looking for lost tombs not found yet. This is a task that could potentially take months or years. Or we may never find it. It may not even be real. But this scroll here is just far too specific about it, so we can't just dismiss it. We need to do more research." Harry sighed.

"But there is one thing we can do, right now, to give us some breathing room, and possibly even render the entire issue moot depending on what else happens."

"What is that?" he asked.

"Remove the link for the resurrection," she explained. Hearing his puzzled silence, Hermione continued. "Voldemort's remains. Without them, there is no chance that any of this could work." She felt Harry nod behind her.

"We should get Tom Senior's remains too, since Voldemort's final body was created from those. I really don't think that would work, if anything that should summon Tom Senior. But if we're going to do this, we should spend a few extra minutes to cover all the bases, just to be safe." Again, she felt a nod.

"So, tomorrow we'll go to—"

"No," Harry interrupted. Startled by the tone of finality in his voice, Hermione stopped scratching Crookshanks' ear and turned her head so she could see Harry's face while still lying down.

"You will not be going anywhere near them. You remember what you told me. The remains identify the soul, the relic summons it, but a new earthly container is needed for it to inhabit. An _empty_ container," he emphasized, placing his hand meaningfully upon her belly, which was still months from showing.

Wizards and Muggles alike had theories on where souls went after death. But fewer theories were offered on where they came from before birth. But at least as far as the Egyptian relic was concerned, the ritual specifically required a healthy unborn child for the soul to enter.

"But—"

"Absolutely no, Hermione! Two days ago we wouldn't be having this discussion, we both would've been out the door already. But that was before this," Harry argued, his hand on her belly giving a tiny squeeze. At this point Crookshanks decided he'd been ignored long enough and jumped down off Hermione's lap and wandered away, leaving several clumps of shed fur on her jeans.

"But—"

"Look, you said we were ahead of them. They don't know yet what they found. They don't know yet what they need. _Probably!_ But if there is even the tiniest of tiny chances that they are ahead of us, if there is the tiniest chance that they already have the relic, we can not take the chance that we might… that YOU might get anywhere near it, even if it's just in their possession. We don't know how it works. We can't take any chance that the relic might somehow sense a… _suitable_ container… near it, for it to latch onto for its foul purpose.

"Ever since the hunt, never once have I refused to allow you to join me on any of this. But this time I… I can't. I just can't let…" Harry's voice trailed off, breaking up as his thoughts and fears began to overwhelm him. Although they were both happy beyond any measure, the news of Hermione's pregnancy was still overwhelming at the moment. That it was unexpected would be an understatement, to say the least.

The pregnancy prevention potion they used was intended for committed couples so it required a drop of blood from each of them. The benefit to this extra complication was that it lasted a full lunar year and was 100% reliable, with not a single known pregnancy in the past two hundred years. Until now. Faced with this fact, they could only joke about it, noting that no one had ever survived the killing curse either. And Harry had done that _twice_.

Hermione considered the risks of the mission. The low odds that the relic even existed. The high odds that it was still lost assuming it did exist. The odds that the Death Eaters even knew about it yet? The odds they'd found it? The odds that they were already searching for Voldemort's remains? The odds they'd find them in spite of the best efforts of Harry, Hermione, Headmistress McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick to hide and secure them?

Retrieving both Riddles' remains would probably take Harry ten minutes on a bad day if he had to walk barefoot in the snow uphill both ways. The odds that he would encounter any problems were as close to zero as was possible, without being zero.

But the price for being wrong was so _terrible_.

So Hermione agreed: Harry would go alone on this mission. Besides, there were weeks or months or years of research she could get started on. They began to plan on what they'd do. As they talked, they realized this entire endeavor would take a lot more than just ten minutes and a couple of Apparition jumps. It would take more than just swapping the bones from one grave to another.

This was the darkest magic developed by the one culture that had spent more time and effort dedicated to the afterlife than probably all others combined, and that was before magic was added in. Not a single speck of bone dust, not a single molecule of Voldemort's earthly existence could remain. Because so much dark magic had infused Voldemort's being, and who knew what protection he may have placed on his father's remains prior to or even after his graveyard resurrection, they had to assume they'd be unable to simply vanish them.

So, they agreed they had to make them as inaccessible as possible. With all seriousness, Hermione's first idea was to send them off the planet into outer space. But there was still no magic that she knew of that could send something beyond the earth's gravity.

She thought about the challenges they might face to slip the remains onto a commercial or military satellite launch. Even though she wasn't sure if they could, a quick phone call home to her mum asking her to get on the computer and check the Internet confirmed that there weren't any launches that had been publicly announced within the next four months, so that was the end of that. And anything they could get access to as civilians—even with the Potter and Black fortunes at their disposal—wasn't reliable enough to trust. Any chance of a failed launch would only make things worse as it would likely scatter the remains into many tiny pieces over a large area.

Hermione really did try to cling to her outer space idea.

Considering the options available to them and the immediate timeframe in which they wished to accomplish this, they decided that sending them to the bottom of the ocean was the best possible solution at this time. Hermione worked out the details. The two Riddles' remains would be gathered. If they couldn't be vanished, then they would be cremated by Fiendfyre separately. Any inorganic ashes or bone fragments that remained would be collected and mixed into separate batches of wet concrete.

Once dry, each would be covered by a coating of marine-grade epoxy and then encased in a second layer of concrete. That would then be placed inside in a waterproof stainless steel box, which would be filled with even more epoxy to eliminate any air spaces to reduce the risk of compression due to extreme water pressure. Although they would charm every layer each step along the way with as many _Impervius_ charms as it could possibly absorb, they also wanted everything as resilient as possible without magic once the charms eventually wore off with time and distance.

Then finally, in the highly unlikely event that someone might figure out the plan and try to track them or the remains, each Riddle would be "interred" at completely different parts of the ocean. Harry would Apparate aboard a trans-Atlantic cruise ship heading to and from the United States. Voldemort's remains would be thrown overboard somewhere on the journey to New York, while Tom Senior's remains would be committed to the depths somewhere along the return journey.

Just to be safe, Hermione estimated a twelve-hour window for each direction in which it was best to complete his tasks: far enough away from land in any direction but also far enough away from each other. A simple Trust-Me charm would make any unavoidable interactions with anyone he met on board much easier. Then, a rather complicated Remember-Me-Not spell would cause the memory of him to be blocked from going into long-term memory by virtually every person who saw him, thus causing him to be easily forgotten soon after any encounter.

It only took Hermione about fifteen minutes to work out all of the details, and five minutes of that was simply waiting for her mum's dial-up Internet connection to look for launch announcements. In a brief moment of levity, Harry smiled as he listened to Hermione mutter under her breath how her mum and dad _really _needed to upgrade to the much faster 56k modems that were out now and how she swore she'd ask Harry to move back to the Muggle world if she couldn't get a computer working there and had to rely on her parents' Internet connection forever.

With a good idea now of what they wanted to do, they then spent another couple of hours trying to figure out how any of it might be undone by a determined Death Eater, or even by themselves, or how they could improve upon the plan without adding any significant delay. In the end, they finally went to bed around one o'clock in the morning, completely exhausted, but confident that this was the best they could do in the amount of time they were willing to allow. They fell asleep almost immediately, still fully clothed, Harry's arms around Hermione, his hands on her belly.


	5. Chapter 5 - Dancing

_A/N: We have reached the penultimate chapter of this short story. Expect the final chapter tomorrow. I everyone is enjoying this story so far!_

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**CHAPTER FIVE**

**DANCING**

"You asked how I got aboard?" Harry asked me as we continued to dance. "The beginning of this journey started when I was unexpectedly forced to become responsible for the remains of an… an acquaintance, and his father; they needed to be relocated. The family, they had difficult lives.

"Tom Senior, he… even in death he found no rest, so I wanted to treat him with at least a little respect, something he'd been denied up-to-now. We decided upon a burial at sea. They were estranged, father and son, so we decided to bury them separately.

"So two weeks ago late Friday night on the journey over from Britain—I was lucky and you didn't notice me the first trip, I might add," he teased me with a chuckle, "Tom Junior was put into the sea. Then, two days ago—the night before we met actually—I brought Tom Senior's box to the back of the ship. I said a prayer for him as was his family's custom, and then committed him to the ocean depths so that he may rest in peace, undisturbed hopefully forever in the middle of the Atlantic."

I could hear the weight in his voice as he told me all of this. He still hadn't told me _how_ he'd gotten aboard, though at least now I knew _why_, as unusual as his story was. Spreading ashes at sea really wasn't all that uncommon, but sneaking aboard a cruise ship to do so... was. And something felt odd about how he kept focusing his thoughts on the father while the son was barely spared a moment. Yet I could that he felt like he needed to get this off his chest like it was a confessional. So I just listened.

"And so now I'm simply on my way home."

"Our two previous Christmases, Hermione and me, were spent working, in far-from-ideal conditions. With a baby now in the picture, I wanted this Christmas to be perfect. But this literally came up the next day and couldn't be delayed. We're not due back into port until tomorrow, but I don't know if I can make it that long.

"I wanted to give her a perfect Christmas. You know, when I look back, the happy memories all seem to blur together sometimes. I'm not sure when was the last time we weren't together on Christmas, even if we weren't _together_. Three, four, five years ago? When I think about her and Christmas now, I choose to only think about the good times.

"She's the most brilliant person I've ever known. Going all the way back to day one, I can't imagine my life without her anymore. I talk to her every night, but I still miss her terribly. I look in a mirror, and I see her face next to mine, just a foot away, yet inside I feel the hundreds or thousands of miles that it truly is. She feels it too, I know. Sitting at home, surrounded by books, working on research for our project, waiting patiently for me to come home.

"Beg, borrow, or steal, I knew I wasn't going to let anything keep me from getting home in time for Christmas. I just hope and pray we get close enough tonight before Christmas ends."

A couple of details here and there didn't quite make sense entirely, but the trust I felt from him meant it didn't really matter. But more than that, it was the most beautiful and sad story I'd ever heard. As he talked and we danced, I began to cry. For the first time in my adult life, I started to feel alone.

I've always been strong and independent. I didn't dislike the idea of having a significant other; I simply didn't have an urgent need to get involved in a serious relationship. It was time and effort that I preferred to spend on other things. I was aware of my body's needs and desires. But I knew which was which—which were needs and which were desires. 'My biological clock is just a clock… not a countdown,' I told my mother whenever she needled me about settling down. I was completely happy with my life and had absolutely no regrets.

Still, I did allow myself the thought that it would be nice to have someone waiting for me at home. Someone for me to go home to. Someone like Harry, perhaps? _Like_ Harry, but _not_ Harry. I couldn't fathom the idea of separating him and his wife. I smiled. Was it possible to fall in love with the idea of a certain person, but not that actual person? It had to be, because on that dance floor, I was falling in love with my own Harry—just not the one in my arms.

I couldn't help myself. I leaned in close and rested my head against his shoulder. Harry had been a good dance partner, but he had been formal about it. As I leaned into him, I closed my eyes and just listened to the music, I could feel him relax finally as he leaned into me. His dancing was much more relaxed now, more gentle. I think for those few moments, he was dancing with his wife instead of me.

And I was fine with that. It was the least he deserved, so far from home on Christmas night. I was just a literal stand-in; never once did his hands wander or his behavior threaten his vows. And as I thought about this man in my arms, maybe he was a stand-in for me too. Maybe someday it'll be my own Harry that I'm dancing with. Maybe next Christmas night I'll be in my own home dancing the night away with someone.

Never in my life had one year away seemed so close.

As the song ended, so too did the dream as I forced my eyes to reopen. Harry stepped back, his eyes still closed. He blinked several times as his emerald eyes refocused on me through his glasses.

"Thank you," was all he said. I could only nod in response. The orchestra began their next song: a high-energy jazz number that I knew neither of us had the energy for at the moment. Harry led me back out to the starboard railing, back to that same place again. We then walked a few feet down the deck, far enough that the dance hall was out of sight and the music began to fade away.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Harry asked of the perfectly clear night sky.

"It is," I agreed.

"Hermione loves to stargaze."

"What do you see when you look out there?" I asked.

"I see my wife," Harry replied, smiling. He then suddenly turned his head out to sea, in the direction that I knew our destination awaited. He stared with such determination and deliberation that I almost thought if he looked hard enough he would be able to see the shore in the dark from here.

He looked back at me and smiled. "We're close enough now. Thank you for keeping me company today, but there is someone else whom I need to keep company now."

"What? Who?" I was confused. What was he talking about? Was there someone else on board?

"Look," he said, nodding in the direction of Britain. I didn't understand, but that sense of trust that he emanated convinced me I would.

"Look," he repeated. He stood behind me and put his hands on the sides of my head, turning my head slightly and directing my gaze in a specific direction.

"_Look,_" he whispered into my ear. In my imagination, I could see a beautiful young woman sitting on a comfortable sofa in front of a fireplace. A Christmas tree in the corner was decorated with fancy twinkle lights that almost looked like they were fireflies floating around. This woman had to be his Hermione, I knew.

She was reading a book and dozens of documents and other books were scattered around her, no doubt this research project of hers. Our resemblance was more than passing and it startled me. We would never be mistaken as sisters, but if someone stood us side by side and said we were cousins no one would question it.

Harry took his hands off my head and stepped back. I was only vaguely aware of a small breeze of air behind me, and a faint popping sound that I assumed was a champagne bottle somewhere. My attention was still drawn in front of me because I now envisioned Harry walking into the image in my mind.

I smiled. He was wearing the exact same tuxedo as he was now. I couldn't tear my eyes away as she jumped up from the sofa and ran over to him. She leapt into his arms and they spun around in a circle and kissed. He said something to her—there was nothing to hear of course, as it was only my imagination—and they both turned as if they were looking at me.

"Harry! She's so beautiful." He had described everything so well, hadn't he, so well that I could see them so clearly in my imagination? The image faded from my mind's eye as I turned around to look back at him. "The two of you are—"

He was gone! I looked around in all directions. This was not possible. He was _here_, less than five seconds ago. Even if he ran, he couldn't get far enough away to be out of my sight.

_Here then gone without a trace._

I looked back in the direction of the shore, but the scene I had imagined was gone too; I could not see them anymore. I walked back into the dance hall and went over to my colleague Bill. It had been less than ten minutes since I had indicated Harry to him when we entered the room before dancing.

"Did you see where he went?"

Bill looked at me in confusion. "See where who went?"

"The man I was dancing with. The man I signaled to you when we entered!" I was starting to get a little frustrated.

Bill looked lost. "I'm sorry, Joanne. I don't remember seeing you with anyone."

What was Bill talking about? Had he forgotten already? I was about to remind him of our stowaway… the one I had danced with… the mystery man we had a staff meeting about… the one I had tracked moving around the ship across about thirty hours of surveillance tapes…

The tapes! I had to see them. For the first time, I was scared. Not of Harry, but that I had imagined him. Either I imagined all of this, or Bill somehow forgot about all of it. I hurried back to the security office and replayed the footage of the last few minutes. I nearly cried in relief when I saw Harry, when I saw us dancing together. I hadn't imagined him. He was real.

"Him!" I pointed out exasperatedly when Bill walked into my office. He looked at the television screen and appeared stunned.

"Well, I'll be! I… I'm sorry… I must have been daydreaming. My mind must've been a million miles away. I swear I didn't see him with you out on the floor." Bill stared at the screen like he couldn't believe his own eyes.

"Who is he?"

Who is he? _Who is he? He's Harry Potter, our stowaway, you idiot! _I wanted to scream. I certainly hadn't imagined him. So, what? Had Bill… A wild thought popped into my mind.

"His name is Harry. You don't remember me talking to you about him in a staff meeting two days ago?" I asked, curiosity now replacing my frustration.

Bill looked truly embarrassed. "No… um… no, I don't. I remember all of our meetings this trip, but I don't remember anything about him. I'm sorry, Sarge," he admitted embarrassed.

'Sarge' was the nickname he occasionally called me in very informal situations. He knew I'd throw him overboard if he ever called me 'Sergeant Jo Friday' a _second_ time. But somehow I had accepted 'Sarge' on rare occasions when a friendly nickname was fitting. The fact he was doing it unconsciously now proved he really was embarrassed that he'd forgotten about Harry.

But for some reason I knew it was no accident that Bill had forgotten.

"Whh.. who is he?" he asked timidly, trying to determine if there was trouble aboard ship… and if he was in the doghouse.

I thought for a moment. Whatever had happened, it had to be something important, something special. I smiled. "Just a friend of mine. Don't worry about it. Go on back up to the party. I'll be up in a minute."

Bill turned and headed out the office door. "And stay away from the bar, you forgetful old bastard!" I called after him jokingly. Bill really wasn't all that much older than I was, nor did he drink much. I just wanted him to know it _was_ okay to forget about it… _again_, apparently, and to let him I wasn't mad at him. After all, he thought he had screwed up. I closed the door behind him and went back to the security tapes and replayed our dance one more time.

The whole thing had lasted less than ten minutes. If I added in the time I spent with him this morning and during lunch, I had been with him for less than one hour. I had a story he'd told me… wait, what had he told me?

It felt like a dream. I know he had told me his story, I remember hearing all about it… but all of it was just fading away like the memory of a dream. I had virtually nothing, yet the connection, the _connection_ felt as though I'd known him my entire life. I remembered _him_. I remembered _them_. It was a good feeling. I smiled and returned to the party.


	6. Chapter 6 - Remembering

_A/N: __This is the final chapter. __I hope you've enjoyed this short story. Please leave a review to let me know. This chapter __is short but I feel it is much more of a conclusion than just a mere epilogue add-on. Plus at the bottom, I explain how this "songfic" works and for me, the song is the true heart of this story._

_One reviewer commented that this story isn't about Harry at all and that Hermione is barely mentioned. Yes, that is absolutely true... "from a certain point of view," as Obi-Wan said. This story is not about Harry and Hermione specifically, rather it is a story about someone who MET Harry and whose life was affected by him, and by extension by his love for Hermione. Harry and Hermione do not exist in a vacuum in their universe. They meet and interact with people every day, both in and outside of the wizarding world. Each of us meets people every day and sometimes we never know exactly how one of our interactions might possibly affect someone in ways we never expected. This is one of those stories. But to be fair, I have revised the summary to state that this is from the POV of an outsider looking in._

_The review also said since Friday doesn't remember exactly what happened at the end, that none of it mattered. To that, I respectfully disagree. Although she ended up forgetting most of the non-visual details of their meeting thanks to the spell, she still remembered HARRY and meeting him, she still remembered Hermione, seeing them together in the vision. She forgot the details of the story, but she remembered the emotions, her feelings. It's the same how even in our own lives, we often forget the mundane details of what actually happened and end up only remembering the feelings we had. If we think back to Christmases past, we might not remember what we ate, or what was said, or who got what presents. But we remember the feelings, the good times that were had (or the bad). __In the end, we're all only a collection of our memories. And if all that we __remember are the good feelings, the happiness, then sometimes the details are just... details._

_So, thank you to the reviewer who left these comments. I appreciate your honesty. I hope you read this and I hope my explanation makes sense. I hope it provides another point of view to this story that you might enjoy it more. :-) _

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**CHAPTER SIX**

**REMEMBERING**

Two weeks later, we were halfway across the Atlantic again, midway through our next cruise, this time back to New York. My shift had just ended and I was relaxing in my cabin. My thoughts returned again to my mystery man from a few weeks ago. After he disappeared, I made subtle inquires among many of the staff. It was exactly the same as with Bill. No one but me remembered him. It was like he had never even been on board.

_Here then gone without a trace._ Except for all of the surveillance tapes that showed he had been here.

I thought about erasing the tapes; I don't know why. I knew all of the policies and storage procedures and how to get away with it. But then I remembered the old adage: the cover-up was worse than the crime. Accounting for "damaged" tapes would require paperwork; paperwork that someone would read. Which would then cause someone to come to investigate—not me, but just in general… probably someone from tech support to inspect the VCRs. No suspicion, just wasted time and hassle.

Whereas if I did nothing, said nothing, the tapes would be stored for sixty days, then erased, then reused on some future cruise. I'd watched those tapes enough times during my initial investigation. The image of him on them was so small and grainy; there was no way he could be identified anyway. I only found him because I was looking for him. Besides, who even remembered he was here? It was just best to let the tapes be forgotten and fade quietly away like everyone else's memory of him.

I thought about him often while we were in port in Southampton and on that journey back to New York. He never did tell me how he got on board. Considering how he had left just as mysteriously, I decided it was probably better I didn't know. Then again, maybe he did tell me and I'd forgotten.

Only fragments remained, like a dream. I only remembered what I'd _seen_ and what I'd _felt_. In the end, did the _words_ really matter?

I closed my eyes for a moment and could see his pleasantly haunting face again, perfectly clear, though this time it was a normal memory and not that vividly clear vision I'd had of him and his wife in my imagination right before he disappeared.

Haunting. When I first met him, I'd described his face as haunting; the contradictions about him… the way he seemed old and young at the same time, innocent and experienced, energetic and tired.

As I closed my eyes, I knew his face would be haunting me for quite a while… but in the best possible way, and not in a way that would dishonor his wife.

"Beg, borrow, or steal." I remembered that. That's what he said about getting home to his wife in time for Christmas. I couldn't remember what or why, but in my heart, I felt like he'd been on some grand adventure while aboard. I wondered how his journey ended. If what I had seen in my imagination was to be trusted, then I knew he'd made it home in time for Christmas.

I remember seeing a sofa in front of the fireplace where she had been reading. I suspected that's how he would be spending his first night back, Christmas night… lying with his love.

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_**BONUS: As a nerd, I like to make PDFs of my stories in a style resembling the official US Harry Potter books. If you'd like to see these, or if you'd like to download any of these stories for archive or for easy reading on mobile devices, please see my author's profile page where I list them, as I can't post direct links inside the story itself. These PDFs are EXACTLY the same as the stories published here, except in a prettier format.**_

_**FINAL A/N:** As I mentioned at the very beginning, this story was inspired by a song and is my own interpretation of a songfic. In order to get the full effect, I ask you to read the story a second time to really get it "set in." As you re-read it, you may skip over the flashback scene (Chapter 4) if you wish as the song only applies to the ship portion of the story._

_Once you feel you have a good clear "mental image" of the story in your mind, go to YouTube and search for "Doctor Who Stowaway" to find the song that inspired this story. I would provide a link for you, but 1, I can't include links here, and 2, the first time I published this on Portkey I remember getting lots of reports that the YouTube link did not work for anyone outside the USA as different countries have different videos due to licensing rules. Searching yourself should find the right video for your country. Once the music starts to play, just sit back and relax, and close your eyes as you listen to the song._


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